


Ribbons of Darkness, Ribbons of Light

by DixieDale



Series: The Life and Times of One Peter Newkirk [59]
Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas, Hogan's Heroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-25 16:45:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14981315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: Note: Story involves BOTH Hogan's Heroes and Garrison's Gorillas.   The danger that has long threatened both the Command Crew from Stalag 13 and Garrison's team now approaches the combined families, and the promise made so long ago must be set aside so that together they may protect those who are in danger.  See Chapter One - Prologue for a guide to this final battle.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This was not an easy one to edit, there being so many moving parts, so forgive me if I missed something. I really tried to do justice to the guys and this major thread of their story. Obviously this all makes more sense if you have followed both groups and their (my) stories from the beginning, but hopefully there is enough background for it to serve as a standalone without TOO many gaps.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Outline for the Reader.

This is both a Hogan's Heroes story (part of Series 'The Life and Times of One Peter Newkirk', and if not the Finale (even I don't know if that is the case), it is certainly the culmination of a major thread of the Series), and a Garrison's Gorillas story, since Hogan also impacted their lives, and as the two groups are really now one extended family. For those who insist on reading only one or the other, all of the Chapters go with the Hogan's Heroes string. Chapter 4, 'The Enemy Approaches' takes place at The Cottages and obviously involves Garrison and his people as well as the Command Crew from Hogan's Heroes. Chapter 5 is back at Haven, but gives the denoument for BOTH strings. Chapter 6 has a scene at Haven AND one at The Cottages. The following is a breakdown, (basically Summaries of all the Chapters) so you can make your own decisions, but fair warning, skipping Chapters means you could easily be missing things that will help you make proper sense of the ones you do read. 

Chapter 1 - This Prologue

Chapter 2 - Scotty Wilson's Story. As the medic at Stalag 13, Scotty Wilson was the only one who retained a complete and accurate memory of that final episode that almost destroyed the Command Team and the covert operation at Stalag 13. The others of the Command Team - Peter Newkirk, Andrew Carter, Louis LeBeau, and James Kinchloe - voluntarily had their memories suppressed in order to allow them to continue the job they were sworn to do. They had been given certain triggers, certain red flags that would cause those memories to tease at their minds, to cause them to seek out one man -Scotty Wilson -to discover the truth. (As Related in the HH story 'A Word To The Wise', last vignette, when Caeide storms at not being allowed to call down proper judgement against Hogan.) Now, James Kinchloe, Kinch, finds himself with recurring nightmares and premonitions, and knows, or perhaps just hopes, Scotty Wilson can help him unravel the mystery. Takes place in Hale Falls, North Carolina.

Chapter 3 - Only The Loving. Andrew is starting to get nightmares again, and something new for him, flashbacks of things he doesn't consciously remember. But there is enough, enough to send him into a downward spiral, and those he'd had to support him before, those he could always talk to - Angie, Charlie, Lucy, Estelle - they were gone now, and he felt increasingly alone. How could he possible go to Peter with this, yet he owed Peter that, that and so much more. When visitors arrive and the whole ugly story is laid out in front of Peter for him to see and understand, how can Andrew ever look him in the eye again? And what were the resurfacing of the memories warning them about? Would they figure that out in time? Takes place at Haven Farms

Chapter 4 - The Enemy Approaches - When The Big Brown Eagle, General Robert Hogan, crashes a family gathering at The Cottages intending to get some major payback for perceived insults and injuries, he finds he's perhaps bitten off more than he can chew. Thanks to Kinch's premonitions and Scotty's revelations, the hosts are on guard with a plan of their own, and a secret Champion. Still, there are repercussions on all sides, as old memories are stirred, and new plans are put in place to protect the innocent. And this time, there are few who would urge mercy. Takes place at The Cottages.

Chapter 5 - Judgement - The Command Crew of Stalag 13 had elicited a promise from those who had come to their aid, a promise of no action taken against The Big Brown Eagle, Robert Hogan, until after the war, and then only if he threatened real, actual harm, until he presented 'clear and immediate danger'. Well, the war is long past, and General Robert Hogan has now crossed the most serious line of all - he now threatens their greatest treasure. The time for leniency is past; the time for judgement has come. Now there is just the waiting, waiting for Justice to be served. And Justice, as often is the case, takes its toll even on the victims. Takes place at Haven Farms

Chapter 6 - Ribbons of Darkness, Ribbons of Light - Friends, old and new, and family all join together to help Andrew make some sense of all that has happened. In doing so, there is comfort and hope, given - taken - shared. Meanwhile, at The Cottages, Goniff receives some comfort of his own, and finds peace within him as well. First takes place at Haven Farms and second at The Cottages.


	2. Scotty Wilson's Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the medic at Stalag 13, Scotty Wilson was the only one who retained a complete and accurate memory of that final episode that almost destroyed the Command Team and the covert operation at Stalag 13. The others of the Command Team - Peter Newkirk, Andrew Carter, Louis LeBeau, and James Kinchloe - voluntarily had their memories suppressed in order to allow them to continue the job they were sworn to do. They had been given certain triggers, certain red flags that would cause those memories to tease at their minds, to cause them to seek out one man -Scotty Wilson -to discover the truth. Now, James Kinchloe, Kinch, finds himself with recurring nightmares, ones depicting flashes of the past, but even more frightening, dire predictions of the future, he is driven to seek out the man who had been their medic at Stalag 13. Somehow, he knows, or perhaps just hopes, Scotty Wilson can help him unravel the mystery. As much as finding out the truth terrifies him, ignoring his nightmares is just not an option.

Their memories were flawed; they'd each known that. Peter had been deeply affected, and it had taken Andrew filling in some of the gaps to help him deal with the pieces that were left, though Andrew had his own shadowy spots. The question that remained, for all of them, was why? You would have thought their memories of that time would be rock-solid, yet it was not so. They had gaps, some different, some overlapping, some - well, how did you know there was a gap when NO ONE remembered clearly. Now the fog is starting to lift for Kinch, for Andrew. What is on the other side that frightens them so? For Andrew, it's the past; for Kinch, he's starting to think it's more the future.

New Orleans - Kinch woke in a puddle of sweat, feeling the paddle fan above him chill him as the moving air hit his wet body. {"Damn, not again!"} His heart was pounding, along with his head, as the scenes from his dream flashed in front of him, over and over. For a week now he'd had the same dream; it'd gotten where he dreaded going to sleep. He flicked the light on, looked at his watch. It was early; maybe if he got to the airport right away, he could change his reservations. There was a stop he needed to make before he headed back to Mari and their son.

Hale Falls, North Carolina - Scotty Wilson. He'd been a medic then, not a doctor like now. Well, maybe not everyone would have approved of the way in which he carried out some of his duties, or how he interpreted his responsibilities, but not everyone was medic to a ever-varying number of prisoners of war in a German Stalag. Ever-varying not just because of death or transfers in or transfers out, or new captures, but because of that Travelers Aid Society that was working out of Stalag 13. He'd learned a lot of new skills, many of which he desperately wished it hadn't been necessary for him to learn, helped a lot of men to survive, helped to bury a number of others. He worked closely with all the men, but particularly with Colonel Hogan and his Command Team. He figured sometimes, if he sat down to write a book about all he had experienced there, first, no one would believe it, and second, the military would be on his doorstep arresting him for violating the Classified Secrets rule they had about those activities. Seems they had worked so well the military wanted to have that idea safe and secure for the next war.

That very thought made Scotty Wilson shudder, {"already they were planning for the next war. It's not that I don't want us to be prepared if it comes, but somehow, knowing that they were planning for it, well . . . Korea, then Vietnam. I wonder if they used Stalag 13 as a model there too; well, maybe still using. Don't know that Vietnam is ever going to end; it doesn't seem like it."}

Scotty had come home with a bum leg, a knee that wouldn't bend; that, along with his age, kept him on the homefront instead of him repeating what he'd done before. He looked down at that stiff limb now, thinking how he'd thought it such a hardship then, standing during all those hours of training at the hospital after the war. A hardship, yet it'd kept him here while so many others went off to serve and suffer and die once again. Kept him here to help all those around him, those who'd had no doctor at all until he'd settled down here. Still, he thought about those over there, with no one to take care of them either. He'd made his peace with not being able to be in two places at once, not being able to help everyone, still . . .

It had been quite a few years, now, and when he sat down to think of each of them, those Unsung Heroes, he had to really concentrate to remember just how many years since he'd first met each of them.

Peter Newkirk, Cockney English, doggedly determined, talented, cantankerous, all-round annoying when he wanted to be, had already been in the camp for some time, well before the States had even entered the war, and then the feisty and fiery Frenchman, Louie LeBeau, had arrived.

By the time Scotty got there, things were a royal mess, and he didn't remember exactly when Kinch, James Kinchloe, the steady, easy-going black sergeant got there, just it was before Colonel Robert Hogan and all of them before young, eager and naive Andrew Carter, and Richard Baker, another black American, last of all.

He could figure it out, but he had no real reason to, and there was a lot he'd have preferred to forget. He'd been released along with the others and got home and tried to get his feet under him. The G.I.Bill helped with his studies, but hadn't been enough to get settled or start his own practice where he wanted to practice; he could get some financial support for practicing elsewhere, what with the doctor shortage, but there just wasn't any support for a new doctor wanting to work 'out in the boondocks'; that was part of the reason there were so few doctors working there, well, that and the sheer lack of money such a practice could provide. You tended to get paid in chickens or eggs or fresh vegetables or exchange of services when you got paid at all. His experiences in Stalag 13 had caused a rift between him and the more typical mode of thinking - you helped when you were needed, that was simply all there was to say about it. He just couldn't get used to the idea of asking for cash up front, or collateral, or one of those relatively new 'insurance cards'. Couldn't, didn't want to.

No, his being able to practice where he had always wanted to be, that had been made possible by that influx of cash from 'grateful friends', transferred on a regular basis into his bank account, and he'd traced the money back for aways, but never to its true source. Enough to know where it hadn't come from, more than anything. Not from any individual, but from an account out of Switzerland, source indicated only with a number.

The first transfer came right after an unsigned letter that just said, "Scotty, go do what you always told us you wanted. Gratefully, the guys."

The transfers were not luxurious, but enough to help him achieve his dream, his doctor's shingle, general practitioner with a speciality in obstetrics AND trauma care; enough he could work in the rural community where decent medical care was so hard to come by.

He had his general practice, his share of agricultural accidents and person-on-person injuries, and was most competent with all that, but the babies, oh, that was special to him. When people would wonder at that, an ex-military medic choosing such an 'unrewarding' place to set up practice, and such odd specialities, he'd tell them truthfully that he wanted to be able to help bring life into the world for a change, and he'd already been given a specialized course in trauma and it was a bloody shame to let that hard-won experience go to waste.

The transfers still arrived without fail, had throughout the years, and because of that he had the medical supplies he needed to serve his chosen community, supplies and medicines many rural practitioners had to do without; because of that, he was able to bring in a dentist on occasion, and someone to check the kids' and the old folks' eyes. In fact, a time or two, when there had been a particular need, somehow the money showed up, like whoever was responsible was keeping an eye on him, what he was doing.

He was too much of a realist to let his pride refuse the monies; he remembered those supplies Newkirk's friends had sent them, the supplies that had saved so many lives; he remembered Hogan's pride being hurt at them accepting those supplies, and how HE had felt only overwhelming gratitude that the irrascible Englishman had somehow endeared himself so much to those people that they were willing to do this for him. Somehow, he thought this might be something similar, and the thought made him smile and remember, smile with gratitude as well.

He didn't know much about what became of the others of the Command Team, not really, just that they'd survived the end of the war; he didn't go out of his way to establish contact, in fact he dreaded it.

He'd see Hogan in the papers once in a while, usually when Maddie pointed out something in the society pages; he never told her that he'd seen it, had been looking for that particular name. He got the New York and Washington papers as a library loan, and took a lot of ribbing for that. Well, the papers were a few weeks old when they arrived, but it wasn't like he was following the stock market or anything, just kinda staying on top of things in general, no pun intended.

He'd gotten cards and brief letters from each of the guys in Hogan's team, thanking him for what he'd done for them, but they didn't give a lot of details about themselves, well, hardly any at all, and the return addresses seemed to all be post office boxes, and even those changed periodically. He sent Christmas cards in return, but just the basic, nothing really personal.

He DID send a letter once every six months, back to the bank where the monies came from, asking on the envelope that it be directed to whoever managed that account; he spent time on that letter, outlining how the practice was doing, telling about the people he'd been able to help, sometimes about those he hadn't been able to help, but at least had tried. Somehow he had a feeling those letters were being read, read and appreciated.

Odd, in a way, when you thought about it, that being the only contact, considering how much they'd all depended on each other in that hellhole, but there was a strong hesitation on everyone's part, it seemed and he wondered if that hadn't been deliberate. The only one of the guys he'd actually seen since then had been Sergeant Kinchloe and that just a couple of times, though they had talked on the phone every now and then in the early days, less now. The last time he'd called, it had been from somewhere in Argentina, of all places!

Maddie called him from the kitchen, "Scotty, it's for you!", and he picked up the ringing phone; his face turned from morose to cautiously pleased at the voice on the other end.

"Damn, Kinch! Man, it's good to hear from you again! It's been awhile! How are you? WHERE are you?"

He heard that deep chuckle, "yeah, Scotty, it's good to hear your voice. Listen, I'm here in town; wanted to see about getting together for a drink, had something I needed to talk to you about. The drink could be in public, if there's anyplace that would work, but the talk, well, not so much."

Scotty stilled in apprehension, "come to my place. We can do both where we're comfortable. Maddie will be tickled to meet you," and he gave directions and before long a knock at the door let in the tall well-built black man he remembered so well.

Scotty was well aware of the realities of life in his community; his clinic was in his house, so a black man coming to the door wasn't a shock; he took care of everyone, that was well known; it had been a bit of a surprise to some in the beginning, but he'd kept firm, and by now everyone just accepted it. But him drinking with a black man in public, not that there was a place open now, nor one that would cater to both of them anyway - that would only lead to trouble for them both.

Maddie was indeed tickled to meet someone her husband had mentioned so often, but after awhile she excused herself and let them get down to serious drinking and talking. Scotty tried to force his voice, his demeanor to what would be expected of anyone in this position.

"So, you're looking good! Last time you were in Argentina; what on earth were you doing there, if I might ask?"

Kinch grinned broadly, "setting up a security system; that's a lot of what I do now, that and communication systems. Right now I'm just finishing up a job in New Orleans, headed out to Geneva."

Scotty raised his brows, "Geneva as in?" knowing of at least three 'Geneva's' in the surrounding states.

"Yeah, the big one, Switzerland. This one's a pretty big job; I'll probably be there for awhile. Mari's happy about that; we got a kid now, a son, not quite a year old; she's ready to be in one place for a little while, even if it's further from her family than she'd like. They're there already, getting settled in."

Scotty hadn't known Kinch had gotten married, but Kinch didn't seem inclined to give details, so Scotty asked, "have you heard from any of your guys, how they're doing," a little apprehensively, knowing the proclivities of some of those guys, well, two at least, for getting into trouble; Although he didn't think Carter did it intentionally, Scotty thought Newkirk probably saw it as a viable occupation, and was somewhat relieved to see the grin get, if anything, even broader, and that deep chuckle rumble forth.

"LeBeau is settled down, two kids, little girls. Has his own restaurant, just like he always wanted, though not in France. Peter made it back to his Caeide, remember her, Little Red Riding Hood? The one whose sister and brothers showed up when we were in such a bad way," and Wilson remembered all of that quite well, remembering a lot more than that too.

His voice was serious, but with a smile on his face, "good. Wasn't sure he'd have the good sense to do that. Maybe she can keep him on the straight and narrow."

He asked, "what about Carter? He back at his drugstore, confusing his boss?," and wondered at the sly grin he got in return.

"He's with Peter and Caeide, confusing them instead. They've got six kids now, would you believe?! Three sets of twins, and she's due again soon!"

Scotty snorted, "now that I'd like to see! I can imagine LeBeau with kids, but Newkirk? I can't quite picture that!"

Kinch laughed, "yeah, well, believe it, they're great dads, the both of them! Oh, it's a zoo at times, but Caeide has a good handle on things overall, and they're all happy as clams."

Scotty took a glance down at his glass; no, it was still half-full, so it wasn't likely his ears had been playing tricks on him. 

"They're great dads. Both of them?" he asked, and got a "yeah, THEY have six kids, as far as they are concerned, and don't let anyone try and say different. Three sets of boy and girl twins - the three girls look like Caeide, red hair and freckles; one boy enough like Peter you'd know him anywhere, the other two boys like Andrew. It's a rather unusual household, Scotty, but they make it work, and like I said, they're all happy and satisfied, all three of them totally committed to each other."

Scotty wanted to ask a couple more questions, but decided he hadn't had enough to drink for that. He wasn't sure he had the capacity to drink enough to let him ask those questions 

"And the Colonel?" noting the troubled look that crossed his companion's face.

"You know the Colonel, always lands on his feet, still playing his games." A worried frown now sat on Kinch's dark face.

"That's part of what I wanted to talk to you about, ask you about. I've been having dreams, and somehow . . ." He inhaled deeply, and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, inquiring with a raised brown and relieved when he got a nod and an ashtray pushed to his hand.

"Another drink?" Scotty asked, sensing this was going to be a difficult conversation.

"Yeah, I think so," and Kinch wondered where to start, how much to say. Finally, remembering how much they'd had to trust Scotty Wilson in the camp, seeing that same steady gaze now that the medic had had then, he decided to be more forthcoming than he'd originally planned.

"The Colonel, well, the General now, of course, he's never been happy with Peter not joining him after the war; tried to cause a lot of trouble for him, for Caeide AND for Andrew, trying to bust them all up. Seems like he's backed off for now, but he did some damage back then, and they still worry about him trying again, you know. I'd figure they could handle it; they've managed well enough so far. Just, lately, these dreams, they have me worried, and something tells me you're the one I need to talk to about them. Don't ask me why; I don't have a clue," the last sentence coming out in a highly-frustrated voice.

Scotty sat back and drew a deep breath, the look on his face extremely troubled. Somehow he'd known this day would come, and he'd always dreaded it. Kinch took another look and knew he was right; Scotty Wilson had the answers he'd come looking for, and he wasn't going to be any too pleased when he heard them. He took another sip from his glass.

"This is going to take awhile. Let me tell Maddie to go on up when she's ready and not wait for me. The guest room okay for tonight? You won't want to be leaving til morning, I think. Why don't you pull your car on around to the back, then come back in and we'll talk."

**

"Where to start? You know, I knew one of you would come looking for answers someday, they told me you would, most likely, and I tried to sort it out in my head, figure out how I'd tell the story. Never could figure out the right way, though; it's all so damned unbelievable, Kinch."

"The first I knew about it, LeBeau came pounding up the tunnel entrance to get me. God, what a mess! Hogan was unconscious, bleeding from a gash across the back of his head. I started to go to him, and the rest of you yelled at me to keep away from him; you called him a few choice names, as I recall. You shoved me toward Newkirk, who was laying in a heap in Carter's bunk, told me to take care of him first. Couldn't believe it when I saw you tying Hogan's hands behind him, rolling him into the corner like so much garbage. There was no arguing with you, and no arguing with the fact that Newkirk needed help too. You had bruising across your face, Carter too; LeBeau was sporting a bad wrist, I could tell the way he was holding the gun. Hell, never thought I'd see the day one of you would be holding a gun on the Colonel!"

Kinch was blinking rapidly now, frowning intensely, trying to pick out pieces of his dream to match what he was being told. It started to click into place, like a puzzle being put together in his mind, the pieces flowing into place slowly at first, then faster and faster til the picture was clear - extremely ugly and far too clear. He swallowed deeply, "yeah, me either! Am I remembering right, Newkirk . . ." looking a little sick.

Scotty didn't look much better, "yeah, along with being beaten pretty damn good. Ended up giving him a shot of morphine to put him out while I did some repairs he'd have never let me near enough to do otherwise. When you finally told me what had happened, I couldn't believe it, how you'd pulled him off Newkirk when you thought he was going to beat him to death. Not til we found that letter the Colonel had already laying on his desk, the letter he had written earlier to use as his justification for," and he paused, not wanting to say it. He looked into Kinch's dark brown eyes, and forced himself on, "his justification for killing you in self defense when he'd found you after you'd sexually assulted Newkirk and then beat him to death. And when he came round, trying to convince me YOU were responsible for Newkirk's injuries, that he'd tried to stop you and you'd threatened to kill him to keep him quiet, then attacked him. That Newkirk was too afraid of you to tell the truth about what had happened."

"Damn, Kinch, he was convincing; I don't know, if it hadn't been for Carter and LeBeau . . . They didn't even say anything, not then, just stood there looking at him. I've never seen such looks from either of them, especially Carter. I think Carter could have easily killed him, without thinking twice, right then and there, if the consequences to all of you, to the rest of us, hadn't been so high, and LeBeau would have helped him." 

Kinch was now accepting his 'dream' was nothing of the sort, but his memory returning with stunning force, the words following. "He'd found the two of us in the tunnel, me down on one knee holding Newkirk while he vomited up his guts after Hogan was finished with him. I'm trying to keep Peter from falling in the mess, keep him from strangling, trying to wipe the blood away from his mouth cause the Colonel caught him a few good rounds in the stomach, just to teach him a lesson, and Hogan was standing there screaming obscenities at us both. Christ! Surprised we didn't have Krauts swarming the place! Thought he'd lost his mind, all the things he said, as if it'd been ME, you know?? Like Newkirk had been CHEATING on him by having someone try and help him. Then, it was like he flipped a switch; it was like it hadn't even happened, and he was back to normal, all concerned that Peter 'wasn't feeling well'! Not feeling well! Christ!"

"Til we came back topside from that mission. I'd been stuck on the radio getting reports from the Underground, Carter and LeBeau were still changing and I came up first. I heard the noises from Hogan's quarters, got the door open, found Peter on the floor, half-naked, unconscious, Hogan kicking the hell out of him. I yanked him away, the others were there and it was a free-for-all til Carter laid that pistol up along side Hogan's head. We got Peter into Carter's bunk, LeBeau ran for you."

"If it hadn't been for Carter, I don't know what would have happened; damn, Scotty, it was so easy to take Andrew at face value, forget just how intelligent he really is. He was the one who made the call, you know; he was the one who insisted on talking to Michael or Patrick, not Caeide or Meghada; I thought at first it was because of the guys being doctors, but he said later it was because we probably still needed Hogan alive, if possible, for the mission, for other reasons, and that wasn't going to happen if the girls found out."

Kinch gave a totally mirthless chuckle, "said the girls had pretty firm opinions on how to deal with Ravens." He could tell Scotty didn't understand, and he shook his head, indicating he didn't really want to explain.

Scott Wilson accepted that, and sighed. "Well, they parachuted in, went along with it, but they weren't any too pleased either. I'd known they all thought a lot of Newkirk, from before, but that time, well, think they would have put a bullet through the Colonel's head if all of you, all of us, hadn't convinced them otherwise, even with them being doctors." 

Kinch explained, "Peter had the deciding vote, you know; well, he was the one who'd taken the most damage, he was the one who'd set himself between Hogan and the rest of us all that time, especially between Hogan and Andrew."

Scotty's eyes widened at that; somehow that put a little different slant on the picture.

"London wouldn't have cared too much about any of the rest of us, Scotty; I hate to say it, but they proved it enough times, you know. If we lost Hogan, we'd be out there on our own. Michael could've probably gotten the five of us out, but Peter wasn't in any condition to go anywhere, and what would have happened to everyone else when we showed up missing, all the other guys in camp? And I don't know that Caeide and her people could've gotten everyone out; hell, that was a lotta guys to try to get away, and without a sub waiting to get them home? And even if they did, what about after, how'd we explain that to the military, just showing up again? Especially showing up without Hogan?"

"And the only other option, not going back home, setting up elsewhere? How many of the guys could do that, would be willing to do that with family waiting back home? Peter wasn't willing to bail and let everyone else down, and he thought, we all thought the job we were doing was making a difference. He's as stubborn as they come, you know that. What they did I don't understand, never will; I know they had Andrew working on something in his lab, but it was more than just drugs, I know that. Maybe something like what Caeide did with that General that time."

Scotty had heard about that; he hadn't believed it, necessarily, but he'd heard. Well, before the brothers did whatever they did. Scotty sighed, "they said they weren't sure how long the treatment would last, when any of you might start to remember, how much of it, but when you started to remember, I'd probably see one of you at my door asking for an explanation. Probably not Peter, they put an extra whammy on him, thinking he just didn't need to be remembering this out of the blue. One of YOU guys, not Hogan; that they'd blocked that portion with him; they wanted to be sure he did NOT end up on my doorstep. That what they used, what they did with HIM was hopefully able to bring Hogan back to more the man we knew at one time, one able to do the job, without putting all of you, especially you, especially Newkirk, at risk. They said it could still go wrong; we all had to be careful, watchful. Well, I still have trouble believing it."

He looked at Kinch, hesitantly. "It did, didn't it, help, I mean?" 

Kinch didn't answer for a long time. "Partly, pretty much so. At least it was enough to keep every one alive, but you can believe we kept a close eye on each other, made sure no one was alone with him if we could help it; they'd been sure to leave us enough memory, enough caution to make sure we did that, even if not enough to know why exactly. There was some smaller shit, hurtful but not physically, you know; he wasn't the same as before, either at the best or at the worst, but it always felt like it wouldn't take much to set him off."

"Newkirk wasn't the same either; the look he'd get sometimes, it was scary, and he'd try to keep his distance from us; his temper got a lot worse, you'll remember, like it was tearing him apart to keep a lid on it. Was scared he was gonna get himself shot a couple of times; a couple of times, thought he was gonna do it himself. Andrew wouldn't let him get away with it, and me and LeBeau followed his lead; seemed he had a better feel for what Peter needed, could handle from us than anyone else. Him making it through, surviving afterwards - I'd say that was Andrew, Andrew and Caeide, and Maude and Marisol; they wouldn't give up on him."

"If my dream is what really happened, then the cover story, that the Colonel had been hit pretty hard on that last mission, the same one when Newkirk had fallen afoul of unknown assailants, where the others of us had taken some damage, well that kept the Colonel kinda in check. The head injury was the reason he had no memory of the mission or any of that; well, that made sense. And we all had to take it easier for awhile, though London didn't much like it. And, well, it was obvious Newkirk was in no shape for his games, not for some time, and by the time Hogan was getting that look again, starting to make demands, we were able to stall him, distract him til the trucks starting pulling in and we were shipped back home." 

Kinch was silent for a long time, deep in thought, "Scotty, what happened, do you understand why? Was it something they did to him when they had him, the Krauts, I mean? I know they were experimenting with drugs, mind control, dreams, past life regression, all that sort of stuff."

"I don't know, Kinch. I've wondered. I've wondered too if I did the right thing, not saying anything. But, you know, who would have believed us, then or later? Someone like him, sent in special for the job, up and coming general in the making, hero, master-mind. They wouldn't have, you know."

Kinch nodded in agreement, and lit another cigarette. "Even if we'd told the rest, all we knew, all we suspected . . ." and Scotty's eyes widened, "rest? Oh my god, there was more?" And the deep sadness and anger in those brown eyes made him shudder.

"Yes, of course there was. I just didn't want to think there was more. Your dream, do you have any idea of why now? Do you think the conditioning just wore off or what? What about the others, have they made any mention of any of this?"

"No one's said anything, though they have to remember some of the other stuff, just maybe not this. I think each of us saw, experienced some things the others maybe didn't; we never sat down and discussed it, then or later, at least I didn't. And why now? I don't know, but I've got a really bad feeling, Scotty." 

Kinch looked down at his drink, then slowly raised his head to look at their former medic. "Do you believe in premonitions? See, my dream doesn't end with where your story ends. My dream ends with me standing in a doorway, lots of people around, everybody in a good mood and laughing, but with me watching Hogan, standing there watching him while he watches those kids, Peter and Andrew's boys and another one, no one you'd know though I do - a cute little green-eyed blond kid with a wide smile, Caeide's younger sister's kid; and God help me, Scotty, the look in his eyes, it's the same one I'd see when he'd look at Peter all those times."

And Kinch reached for the bottle and poured each of them another glass, his hand shaking now so that a few drops hit the tray instead. They drank in silence, and later went up to their rooms in silence.

In the morning, when Kinch was starting to leave, Scotty asked, "what are you going to do?"

Kinch hesitated, then said, "Caeide and her family, they believe in dreams; I think I need to make a phone call," and Scotty let out a shaky breath, "yeah, that's probably a good idea." He watched Kinch head back to his car, and turned and surprised Maddy by taking her in his arms and hugging her extra tight.

"What was that for?" she asked with a smile, a worried look in her eyes.

"Just because," and pulled her tight against him, feeling her safe next to him. "Just because."

 

And Kinch did just that, made his phone call, but to Michael, not Caeide. He just couldn't see trying to explain all of that, not again, and Michael would understand. Understand and hopefully know what to do. So, okay, maybe he figured he shouldn't be the one telling all that to a woman who'd easily and gladly kill anyone hurting his old team mate, or threatening any of the kids; that meant he couldn't talk to Andrew either; you don't spring something like that on an explosives expert.

And when he sat in the living room of their apartment in Switzerland, with Michael and also Patrick and Patrick's partner James across from him, and related his worries, he knew he'd been right. The three had heard him out, exchanged a determined look, and Michael had laid a strong hand on Kinch's shoulder.

"You did right; we'll see the warning gets where it needs to be."

After they left, Kinch had another drink, and when Mari raised an eyebrow, since Kinch wasn't much of a drinker at most times, he sighed and said, "just thinking about bluebirds, Mari, bluebirds and and ravens, that's all."


	3. Only The Loving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andrew had hoped the bad memories were over, but now, the dreams, the flash-backs have started again, flashbacks this time of things he doesn't consciously remember. And what he is remembering, is making him doubt all he thought he knew about himself. This is enough to send him into a downward spiral, and those he'd had to support him before, those he could always talk to - Angie, Charlie, Lucy, Estelle - they were gone now, and he felt increasingly alone. As he feels the distance grow between himself and Peter and Caeide, he knows he has to confess what he fears he has unwittingly done. How could he possible go to Peter with this, yet he owed Peter that, that and so much more. When visitors arrive and the whole ugly story is laid out in front of Peter for him to see and understand, how can Andrew ever look him in the eye again? And what were the resurfacing of the memories warning them about? Would they figure that out in time?

Andrew sat on the fence rail staring out over the open pasture. He hadn't slept well last night; hadn't slept well for the past week if he were to tell the truth. He'd spent a night or two with Peter, and one with Peter and Caeide, but he'd felt distance between them, a distance he knew was only in his own mind, as they were as loving and welcoming as always. He sighed as he looked at the horses in the field; sometimes he missed Angie so much. He could talk to her, right from the beginning; could tell her anything and she almost always made him feel better. Oh, he loved all the horses, sure, but there weren't any he felt that special connection with, not like he had with her. And Charlie was gone now, and Lucy, and Estelle, and sometimes he missed them so much. 

"Eh, Andrew. You alright, then?" came the oh-so-familiar voice behind him, and instead of the warm swell of happiness that voice usually brought him, now he felt a frisson of dread. Well, why not? He'd done something really bad, at least he thought maybe he had, and even if Peter didn't know it, HE did, and he couldn't forget what he'd done. If Peter remembered, like Andrew had just remembered, well, Peter would forgive him, Andrew was pretty sure of that. Peter always forgave him, no matter what. Still, it didn't make it right, and he knew that. And he needed to confess and ask forgiveness now, not just wait to see if Peter remembered; he wasn't a coward, he wasn't, it's just . . . 

They'd gone through this before, or something similar, and he really hoped this was the last time; it just hurt so damn much! Andrew, as usual, was thinking in circles and loops and since he was doing it quietly this time, he didn't have Peter or Caeide to intervene and stop the rapidly moving Mobius strip that was driving him nuts.

Childish voices were yelling as two small rockets shot across the ground between the big porch and the pasture, "Da, Daddy Andrew! Ma says to come now, breakfast is waiting!"

Andrew turned in time to receive the small redhead who threw herself into his arms, laughing; Peter had just caught the small boy with the light brown hair and was swinging him around.

"Well, guess we'd best be getting to it then; you know your Ma, she'll not be happy if we leave the food to get cold," Peter chuckled down at the child with Andrew's grin who clung to him so tightly. Andrew didn't say anything, just hugged the little girl to him tightly, his eyes shut, his face unaccountably miserable.

Peter just looked at him, {"think we're due for a sit-down after breakfast; something's bothering 'im and if we don't winkle it out, 'e'll let it fester."}

Breakfast was perhaps not quite as lavish as usual. Maude was in Switzerland with Marisol and young Louie J, along with Jamie and Louisa who'd just finished a set of lessons and would travel back with her at the end of the week. She too noted Andrew's downcast face and sent a questioning look at Peter, but the bewildered shrug she got in return told her he hadn't any idea either. The sound of the radio came at the end, and Kat ran to answer it, Peter following in her wake.

"No, Liam, you just sit still and finish your breakfast. And that goes for the rest of you as well," Caeide said firmly. What one of the youngsters did, the others wanted to follow; it had been that way from the start, and when Jamie and Louisa were home as well, it got to be a bit of a circus.

Of course, that didn't mean she wasn't looking forward to having the oldest two home, or wasn't dreading it more than a little when Karl and Kat would head off two weeks after for a set of lessons, or even more when Liam and Morganna took off next year for their first bit of away-from-home schooling. She knew they'd enjoy it all; she certainly had, after just a bit of home-sickness. Still, she'd miss them. The away lessons started when they turned five, short spans to begin with, increasing in time and scope as they got older. Jamie and Louisa were away three months at a time now, returning for a month, then back out again.

{"They're growing up so fast, but oh how proud we are of them! Clan-smart, with their fathers' kindness and heart, and talent as well."} Karl and Kat were headed away for a six-week course, then back for a month. Sometimes the times coincided so they were all back at the same time; the Clan tried to make that happen frequently, so the brothers and sisters kept the tight family connection as well as the broader Clan-family connection. And that was part of the learning too; the older ones came back and the younger ones heard a lot about the lessons, and they were better prepared when THEY went off in their turn.

She wondered sometimes at how her cousin Dre and his department managed it, all the coordination with all the Clan youngsters. Who was ready for what courses, who needed to spend what time back home to interact with their parents and siblings, which of the youngsters had formed solid friendships where lessons together would be beneficial even if there was a significant age difference. She knew Dre tried to be sure Jamie and Louisa spent time with Randy, Meghada and Goniff and Craig's oldest, though there was a little more than two years between the twins and their effervescent cousin. Randy would be headed to Practicums in a year or so, Internship to follow, but she hoped that closeness would continue to grow. Best friends, they were, the three of them. She wondered how they did it, those who managed all the comings-and-goings, but she blessed them fervently for their efforts. They and those who'd handled that stupendous task before them had made her growing up a treasure, as they had for her many cousins, and now for her children. 

She brought herself back to Haven with a start when Peter returned to the table, Kat having returned earlier. She looked at him questioningly, "it was Michael, 'e and Patrick, maybe James, will be flying in this afternoon. Says they need to talk to us. Wouldn't say much beyond that, except they'd be spending the night, them even being willing to risk your cooking."

He grinned at her, "whatta ya think, luv? Shall we serve them hay and hot mash and stewed tea for their impertinence?"

She laughed, "would serve them right, you know. Trouble is, Maudie's got the whole lot of them spoiled!" She was a good cook, knew how to make a right toothsome meal, she knew that, but Maudie took things to a totally different level especially when company came and her brothers knew that. Ian had once petitioned to have their mail run changed from once a month to once a week just because of that, though the Grandmother had vetoed the idea on the grounds he'd gain so much weight he'd not be able to get the plane off the ground. They cleared the table and each started on their chores, part of her mind already on what she'd fix her troublesome and much loved brothers, along with her brother-in-law should he accompany the others.

It was late afternoon, nearing tea time when she heard the plane. Everyone was in from afternoon chores, the kettle on and a pot of coffee at the ready. Peter had to have his tea, {"there's a reason they call it tea-time, Andrew!"} he'd tell his best friend in mock exasperation, looking at the narrow-faced man smiling in delight over his own afternoon cup of coffee. Andrew would usually just grin back and usually snatch a pastry from under Peter's reaching hand, getting a growl in return. She looked forward to that secret smile Peter would get; she knew how much he relished watching Andrew enjoy that first sip.

Today, that first sip was accompanied by the same worried face as when he'd sat down at the table, no smile at all, not even a distracted one. She wondered again, just what was bothering Andrew. There'd been too much to do to have a good sitdown and find out, though that was on the agenda for tonight. He took things to heart, their Andrew, and sometimes it took some urging to get him to talk about it. Moody, they both were, her lads, though not nearly so much as they had been when they'd returned from the war. The children hadn't inherited that, it seems, and that made her think even more it was what the two men had experienced in their lives that brought that to them, not something they'd been born with. 'Tabula rasa', if she remembered her studies correctly.

With the Clan a lot was inherited, she thought, but then, there were all those lessons and being surrounded by other Clan, so how much was what, she didn't know, and wasn't sure it was all that important, not when the result was what it was. Or, for that matter, what difference it made; the lessons, the nurturing would continue - the inheriting not something to be controlled anyway, and sometimes, quite amazing, as her sister Meghada had shown, both in her own self and in her first-born son and the daughter who followed. With Outlanders, she knew even less, except that few of the Outlanders had anything like what the Clan provided to its children, its people. It seemed very hit and miss to her, and while some were appalled at the dangers and challenges the Clan accepted as normal, the dangers in the Outlander world seemed far greater to her mind, more potentially devastating. 

The children erupted in shouts of joy as their uncles came through the kitchen door, and it was, as Peter said, 'bloody chaos', for awhile before everyone got settled back down with coffee or tea or milk, fresh hot savory bacon and cheese scones, sweet spice scones and butter and cream cheese, fat fruit and nut biscuits, and little bowls of hazelnuts for the shelling. The three men were eager recipients of all the latest news from Haven, the new litter of barn kittens, the promise of a new puppy from Granda - one of their own Estelle's line! - three new fillies just born and Jada due pretty soon now. Once the youngsters were shoo'd off for their late afternoon reading session, the brothers had them recount the tale of those town visitors, the summer people. ('Summer People') who'd caused such trouble and who had been sent about their way most determinedly by Haven's joint efforts.

"Adders, Caeide??! Really??!"

"No, of course not. I'd not have the children playing around with those. Just some grass snakes, some mice and bats and such, well, along with some dead shrimps in the vents, a blocked chimney or two, that sort of thing."

And James snorted at his adored sister-in-law, "aye, just! Surprised there were no eels!" And they all laughed, remembering how Meghada had taught Patrick a firm lesson by depositing two of those wet and slimy creatures in his bed one chill winter's night.

Caeide put the start to dinner in place while they all talked, and quite firmly put each of them to a related task, "there's no reason your hands can't work at the same time as your jaws," and while they groaned, they managed their roles quite well, peeling and mixing and chopping as directed. When everything was put into the oven or the pots and left to do its own thing, Michael rose and got a bottle of whisky and one of bourbon.

Peter raised his brows, "I take it what you're wanting to talk about is something serious?" and the increasingly grim looks on the visitors faces told him he'd guessed right.

"The youngsters are out of ears reach, yes?" Patrick asked, and when assured that was so, they began the story. They heard about Kinch having dreams, searching out Scottie Wilson. Caeide was trying to follow, though there seemed to be a lot unsaid; she could see Peter was struggling as well, though the look on Andrew's face told her he knew far more than he wanted to.

Sensing their difficulty, Michael paused the conversation.

"Wait, Patrick," Michael said, "I think we're taking this too far out of order. We'll tell this from our side, then fill in the gaps, and end with Kinch's concerns; that might track better. And before we start, Peter, Andrew, it's likely you won't remember any of this, so just be patient with us, and not think we're telling Banbury tales."

And so Michael told the story, from receiving that radio message from Andrew asking for their help, along with their promise not to involve Caeide. Caeide held her tongue at that, though it wasn't easy. Of their arrival at Stalag 13, what they'd found, what had been done to make the situation more tenable. By the time they'd finished, chalk would have been a match for many of the faces around the table. Caeide poured another drink for everyone; she knew she for one needed it! Peter looked to be in shock; Andrew, well, he looked sick, but not like he was surprised.

{"He'd remembered, alright; the question is when,"} she thought.

"And Kinch?" Peter asked, gulping to keep the bile down.

"Kinch started having dreams, and like we'd implanted, reached out to Scotty Wilson for help in understanding. Wilson was the only one who was left with the memories; well, someone in the group had to be, in case things went all pear-shaped, and he'd been willing and the one least traumatized by what had happened."

The nature of the dream, the premonition grabbed at each of them, and they talked over the precautions they could, would put in place, just in case it was a true foretelling. They sat and talked for awhile, then she got dinner together and the children called, and a perfectly fine, if rather simple meal was shared. Andrew had barely eaten anything, and the other adults not much more, and Peter and Caeide exchanged a long glance. {"Yes, we've some talking to do later."}

A word or two to the brothers, and the children were gathered up by their uncles for an evening of stories and games and the three adults of Haven were left to their own devices. When Andrew thought to excuse himself, he found himself overruled, and he knew he had no choice now, he had to acknowledge what he'd done, just how far he'd abused the trust of these two who'd given him so much, a home and a family. 

"Andrew-luv, tell us now, what is it?" They were both thinking it would take most of the evening to coax him, Andrew being Andrew, but it didn't. Almost at once it all poured out, and Caeide once again had to shake her head at how different Outlanders could be, even ones she'd known, had lived with and loved for so many years.

Peter was looking totally dumbfounded, like he'd taken a two-by-four to the back of the head; well, that wasn't uncommon with Peter when presented with Andrew's convoluted thought patterns, but this was even more so. She often had better luck figuring out what was going on in both their minds; well, she'd had to struggle and work at it for long enough she should be experienced at it by now.

{"Now that he's remembered, he's comparing what they have between them, probably especially at the beginning with his Plan, his Dance, thinking they're alike to what happened with THAT ONE! Dear Mother, how un-alike they are, and him being so upset as to not be seeing it!"} 

She sighed deeply, reaching out to tip his downcast face up to meet hers, "Andrew, do you remember when you and I were first discussing your plan, your Dance? Do you remember all I said you had to understand first, all you had to agree to first?" 

And his huge sad eyes looked into hers as he nodded and whispered, "yes, but I didn't know all this back then."

"Aye, that's true, you didn't. But you agreed to listen and learn what you needed to know to make sure things were, well, good for Peter in the Dance. You agreed to tell Peter up front what you had in mind, so he could say no if he wanted to. You agreed to using a Safe Word, so Peter could stop anything that was happening whenever he wanted to. You wanted Peter to talk to you, I think so you could know things were still good for him, all the way through. And, Andrew love, you had me stay, so that, as you put it, 'things didn't get out of hand'."

Peter was starting to get the drift, his eyes incredulous at what he was thinking, at what he thought his Andrew might be thinking about that night Peter remembered so well, a night that was one of Peter's most cherished memories.

He listened as Caeide continued, firmly, gently, "well, I stayed, Andrew, I stayed and I watched carefully, just as you asked, for both your sakes. And Andrew, what I saw was truly sharing and giving and loving. That's what I've seen ever since then, between you two, between us three. Oh, you've surprised him plenty of times, with your imagination and your enthusiasm and more. But Andrew, there's been no taking, never, not by you, not by any of us. You've never hurt Peter, never forced anything on or from him he wasn't quite willing to give. There's only been the loving, Andrew. Whether the two of you remembered what had gone before or not, I can promise you, there has only been, between you and Peter, only the loving. Rich and clean and true, I promise you this." And her words got through to him, helped clear the mists of pain and remorse; he looked at Peter, his best friend, his love, pain still mixed with hope in his eyes.

Caeide spoke once more, knowing it would take more than her words alone to totally bring Andrew acceptance of the truth.

"Andrew, do you remember when I asked you what you intended the real outcome of that night to be? Do you remember what you told me?" And he nodded at her, and licked his lips nervously.

"Then I think you need to ask him, Andrew. You know what you intended, as do I. But the real test is in how HE saw it all, isn't it? Ask him, Andrew, ask him what HE felt that night, the next morning. Ask him."

And so he did, hesitantly, eyes never leaving Peter's face. Peter frowned, perhaps puzzled, perhaps only remembering.

"What did I feel, Andrew? Don't know for sure what you mean, but . . ."

And Peter searched for words he wasn't comfortable saying, had never been comfortable saying, but doing so now for his Andrew, just hoping he could say it right.

"I felt loved, Andrew, thoroughly loved, and cherished like no one other than Caeide 'as ever made me feel. And lucky, luckier than I ever thought I'd 'ave reason to feel. Felt bloody worn out too!" he chuckled, giving a wry grin. His face became serious once again, and he added, "felt like I was the most important thing in the world to you, Andrew!"

Warm arms reached out to enfold the smaller man, "that's what you've always given me, Andrew, and I don't think I'd 'ave survived without what you gave me. From what Michael said, seems like you saved us all, back then," and Andrew heaved a deep sigh, smiling at Caeide with his heart showing in his face.

"That's pretty much was he told me he intended," Caeide chuckled. "Though he didn't add the 'bloody worn out'; I figured that was a given from what he'd planned!"


	4. The Enemy Approaches The Gate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A gathering of the two extended families provides their common enemy with the ideal opportunity for a little pay-back for perceived past slights and offences. Thanks to Scotty Wilson they are ready and waiting when he invades their space, and The Big Brown Eagle finds he has perhaps bitten off more than he can chew. As Hogan's eyes are opened to a reality he never suspected, however, it seems Hogan's plans are even more diabolical than they imagined. So diabolical, in fact, they release the Clan from the promise made to the Command Team of Stalag 13. As old memories are stirred, and new plans are put in place to protect the innocent, there are repercussions on all sides. And this time, there are few who would urge mercy. Takes place at The Cottages.

"I know the last time we all gathered at Haven, but this time we'd like you to come to The Cottages. Now the new expansion is completed, we have the room, and it'll be fun! Also, the Mansion is up for sale, and it would be interesting to show you through there; the Clan has a thought or two and I'd like to see how you view it; we've special permission to do that, children included, though they made us promise that Goniff and Randy will not make off with anything. Well, no, they made ME promise that I'll see that precious pair RETURN anything they make off with, that seeming a bit more realistic!" Meghada laughed, her sisters agreeing.

Randy had inherited Goniff's propensity for shiny objects along with his clever fingers and taste for mischief, and add that to Craig's talents for planning and executing tricky manoeuvres, well, he was a right one! The conference call was going well, all on secure lines of course; they'd talked for some time about needing to get the immediate Family and Friends group together, to give the children time to be together, time for the adults to renew their friendships. The older children who were close to the same age saw each other more, being in part of their training together, but not so much the ones farther apart, and the ones under five were still at home. Now, with so many babies to introduce, well, it seemed a good time, and even the younger ones were of an age where they could travel this distance, though the very youngest lived at The Cottages. 

Coura asked, "and who will be coming, do you have an idea yet?"

"Oh, my, we'll have a full house surely! Of course, our crew is planning to all be here, no new jobs being accepted til afterwards. So that's Goniff, Craig, me, Actor, Lynn, Lizzie, Casino, Chief, Douglas. The children, Randy and M'Coury, M'Lynn and CharlieR, Paolo and Nicola. You and Kevin and Ciena, with Caiden and Derrick. Cally with Marya and Louie, along with Michelle and Marie. Caeide, Peter, Andrew, Maude, and their lot, Jamie, Louisa, Karl, Kat, Liam and Morgana, Colin and Scotty, Reverend Miles if he feels up to the trip. Kinch and Marisol, with young Louie J. Sergeant Major, Gil, is hoping to come, if he's over that bad spell by then, along with Rebecka; they live here in the village, of course; he loves the kids and they adore him; he tells them stories about our crew, including a few I think the guys would rather he didn't! And the old man is thinking about putting in an appearance! He wanted to last time, remember, but he had that urgent whatever happening in Washington and then in Geneva. I had thought to see if we could Gather In young April, give her a more full introduction, you know; but she's with her father right now, not away, so there's no good way to make that happen. Our parents are well occupied, as you know, so they'll have to miss it this time around." 

"Full house doesn't begin to cover it, Meghada! Wherever are you putting everyone?"

She explained the new cottages built on the lots they'd purchased along side the original three-cottage plot, along with the newest expansion across the front adding, among other things, a couple of dormatory/study rooms that would fit a goodly number of the older children, and any stray adults who thought they'd survive along with them! They'd moved the expansive front gardens forward, yet again, Meghada laughing that the big perennial and shrub garden, plus the cutting garden, was turning into a rather narrow, though quite long, border along the road. All in all, it was becoming an enclave of considerable size, and a reasonably profitable one. The sale of the divided perennials, all healthy and well-grown and many rather rare, from that big front garden had garnered quite a nice sum, with both seller and purchasers being quite delighted with the exchange. She'd made sure to save back starts of everything, too, having a few ideas of her own about the grounds up at the Mansion, if the Clan pulled this off, perhaps buying another plot of land otherwise; well, they were all tucked into nursery beds, so no harm to wait for a decision.

The guys did their 'consulting jobs', the ones no one looked at too carefully, though retrieving of stolen art played a part; Goniff had, with a straight face, assured her the art had actually been stolen BEFORE they laid their hands on it, and she decided to accept that comment after she'd gotten an agreeing nod from Craig, though the slight smirk on her Englishman's face made her think that was rather optimistic of her AND Garrison; the greenhouses produced some of the more rare herbs and spices, marketed to only a select few, enough to pay for themselves anyway, and she wanted to keep those plants going for propagation, again with thoughts of The Mansion.

Meghada was back writing music and songs for Uncle Neal, with his new Broadway show now going strong, and his newest production due to open in London's West End this fall, this in addition to the several others she'd written for since the war ended - the royalties were adding up, her insisting on a sharing, copywrighting, never selling her work outright. Neal was a prolific writer and adapter, but her reputation had caused others to seek her out as well. She made careful choices, mostly chosing those she both thought had good longrun potential and where she felt her talents would fit; there were some she turned down for various reasons, there were one or two she did just for the fun of it, not having great hopes for profitability, more for her own joy and to show the children it was the music, the creating, the performing that was most important, though of course the money came in handy.

Her series of fantasy books for young adults had been quite successful, and the royalties looked to pay for quite some time there as well, and she had a new book started now, but in a different line. The nut orchard added its bit, as did The Doves; her shares program she'd started when the war ended was working well, helping to provide food for the group; that, along with the cottage industries she was helping to organize and promote helped the village and surrounding area as well. They'd even purchased a few odd cottages around the village when the owners decided to sell, bringing in Family and Friends to live as the need and opportunity arose. Yes, even with the number of people in the enclave, even with the repayment of that loan from the Clan for the purchase of those last cottages, even with the other obligations they had, they were quite comfortably situated. They'd never be rich, at least as far as money was concerned; in other ways, well, that was a different story.

***  
He'd put this in place a long time ago, at least ten years, maybe more, and luck had been on his side. He'd been close by when he received the call, close enough anyway that he could detour easily. Now, the money he'd placed in the hands of that rather sleezy character at the pub had finally paid off, though Doby was now demanding quite a bit more as the final payment. Well, it was worth it!

A gathering at what was called The Cottages, and one of the group, well, looked like that was what the General had been looking for, alright. Tall dark haired Cockney fellow, scars on his face, with a red haired woman who called him Peter. He smiled with deep satisfaction, {"never could find Haven, though I don't know how they managed that, but now, off her home turf, well, we'll just see!"}

His anger had simmered below the surface for a long time now, his desire had simmered as well. Oh, it had been quenched elsewhere, of course, the desire anyway, and frequently; he was married now with children even, and a ready stream of others welcoming him to their bed, but he could still picture that one, the one she'd stolen from him.

{"I didn't even really expect this ever to happen, them coming here where I could confront them."}. After all, he'd put similar traps in place in several different places, wherever he could think of. Now his mind started playing with the possibilities, the options, and he felt himself tense with anticipation. No, he didn't think to take him back, it was too late for that, to late for forgiveness, but he could make them pay for what they'd done to him, defying him like that, thinking to make a fool of him! A sizeable group, that scruffy looking man had said. Well, there were stories he could tell them, many stories, thinking back to the camp, thinking of the Ravens, of the tunnels, thinking of the times that woman and her sisters barged in on them; yes, plenty of stories. 

He drove into the village, stopped at the pub for directions, to have no one comment, though a couple of odd looks came his way. He never saw the man behind the bar reach for the telephone, didn't hear the words, the description being given, nor see the nod of understanding. He didn't see the man ease over to the uniformed man having lunch and a pint in the corner, lean down to have a few words. He departed quickly, finding the place easily enough, especially with the gathering of vehicles ranging alongside. Voices, lots of them, from inside the black metal gate, {"a party, maybe? Hmm, wonder how they'll like their dirty laundry aired in front of their friends?"} he thought with a chuckle.

No, he wasn't entirely rational on this subject, but that wasn't his fault, he knew, it was theirs, or more specifically, it was hers, and if Peter didn't like the outcome, well, he could just take it up with HER. He wouldn't mind hearing THAT conversation, he decided with some satisfaction. 

He moved to the gate, pushed it open, but pulled back, staying back out of sight, when he was greeted with the view of children milling around, gathered into clusters, racing, chasing each other. {"Good grief, how many kids are IN there?"}.

He paused, looked and caught sight of one of them, a tall handsome boy, dark haired with blue-green eyes and an engaging smile, {"God, he's got to be Peter's son!"} and stood entranced, hungrily watching. He thought himself to be unobserved, though that wasn't really the case. There were two others in the shadows, stern-faced, who never took their eyes from him, and even among the young ones he had caught one alert set of eyes. Gradually, he dragged his eyes away, took in the others, dismissing the several girls so obviously of the Clan, though there were two who didn't appear to be, one with auburn hair, but not the Clan red, the other with hair black as night. The other boys he didn't find of interest, til he saw those two, the ones who only could have been Andrew's sons, looking just like younger versions of the man he'd known in camp.

{"Can't believe Andrew actually got married and had kids; especially that he stayed in touch with Peter and that woman; surprised his wife would stand for it!"}

Then, a tall blond woman came out the door, a dusky skinned child in her arms, only to be followed by a moustached man Hogan knew as well as he knew anyone. {"Kinch! Here?"} to hear his former SIC yell loudly, "alright now, food's almost ready, let's get this organized! You're all in the side room, older helps the younger ones; babies will stay with us. Randy, you're the oldest, you're in charge, and no shenanigans now like last time," he said with a stern voice, though the smile on his face showing just how much he meant it, all to the laughter of the children.

One boy, maybe the oldest but still smallish, with golden blond hair and green eyes, a wide generous mouth uplifted in a look of pure mischief, "Oi, let's try it in age order this time, then alphabetical within that, youngest at the front," to the loud groans from the others.

"What, Randy, don't you want a stick and a patch of dirt to draw it out for us?" he got in a teasing manner from the boy who looked like Peter.

He got an exceedingly cheeky grin in return, "no, Jamie, figured you'd all be able to get it straight without all that, especially when there's food waiting! Especially with Maudie making that special Sponge Berry thing she does, with the frozen cream!" They were all lined up and marched inside much more quickly than Hogan thought it would take, the small boy quickly correcting the one or two mixups in the group.

The blond woman shook her head and laughed, "I never know what to expect with Randy, Goniff's mischief or Craig's precision." Hogan knew he recognized the names, and remembered the men, their general appearance, both blonds, not enough to be sure whose son this one would be; he was thinking the little thief from that wide mouth and his size, though.

Kinch reached over to take the baby from her arms, holding him up, and laughing in his face, "me either, Mari, nor anyone else, I think. He's had everyone at a loss about that from the day he was born!" They went back inside and Hogan slipped in through the gate and along the back wall, pausing at each door, each window, til he came to the big double french doors. From all the noise, the clammer of voices, that's where everyone was gathered.

He waited til the noise settled, til he could tell by the view he had around the edge of the curtains that everyone was seated at a big table. He eased the latch and walked in, thinking about the words he'd thought to say, to start with, only to look at the faces around the big table and froze in shock. 

"Well, now, Andrew luv, look who dropped in,' came in a quiet, somehow dangerous voice from the tall rangy man with the blue-green eyes. The two men were seated next to each other, Peter's hand on Andrew's forearm, that woman to one side, baby in her arms, another in a high chair beside her. Kinch was seated by the blonde woman, the baby in a high chair between them. The two blond men he remembered from the camp, Goniff, flaxen blond hair, pale blue eyes, Garrison, green eyes and gold blond hair, {"maybe I was wrong about the kid outside, he had Garrison's eyes for sure and his hair"} were seated side by side, that sister, or another like her, beside Goniff, Garrison and the woman each holding a baby, much younger that the other babies in the room.

He continued around the table; LeBeau with, of all people, Marya and another of those women. That British major, though not in uniform, with another of those women to each side of him. Other men he thought he recognized as being from Garrison's team; a woman he didn't recognize seated with them. A couple of other men and women he didn't recognize at all.

His eyes moved back to Peter and Andrew, to that woman, then to the babies. {"One is Peter's for sure, the other Andrew's, no mistaking those faces even at that age. Wonder where Andrew's wife is?"}. And then his mind recalled that he'd not been able to trace Andrew, not in all these years, not after he left his home town, took in those first few words he'd heard from Peter, {"Andrew luv"}, remembering those visits and Andrew being in the 'family quarters' not in guest rooms like Hogan and the rest of the team, Andrew staying for a full month that visit, the ease between them, the easy touch, and his mind reeled.

{"Surely not! It's impossible!"} only then having his eyes go back to LeBeau, Marya and that, what was her name, Cally sitting together. Seeing Garrison and Goniff and that Meghada together, two babies being dandled in arms, one with red hair, one pale blond. He'd recognized the unusual name of the blond woman Kinch was with, one of the women Peter had known in London. {"Just what the hell is going on with these people??!"}.

Goniff didn't even stand, he just looked over at the intruder, and firmly, dismissively told him, "get out, you're not welcome 'ere," and turned aside as if the matter was closed. 

Hogan's jaw tightened at the words from the small Englishman, the one who'd hit him, embarrassed him, {"well, we'll just see about that,"}. He stepped forward, obviously, once again, forgetting he wasn't in his own house, and this time around wasn't even an invited guest in this one. He was reminded when there was a firm tap at his shoulders and he turned half around to find a constable in uniform standing there.

"Sir, this is private property, a private gathering, and it would seem you're not welcome here. I'm asking you to leave quietly."

Hogan pokered up at the sandy-haired stock man facing him, "Do you know who I am??!"

"Yes, sir, I believe I do sir; you're the gentleman who is trespassing, if I'm not mistaken, sir, the one who's being asked to leave," and the assorted chuckles, giggles and outright laughs from the long table didn't help his temper any. Ben, still the constable in these parts, struggled to keep a straight face, a serious look; he'd gotten the word, the intruder's description, had been waiting for the right moment. Hogan started to protest, then a voice broke in, a voice he recognized and he froze. 

"General, it's time you left, and I think it best you not bother any of these people again. Do you understand me, General Hogan?" and he turned to see a face he knew quite well, a face he met often in his interactions in the higher echelons of the halls of power, but one he'd never, not in a million years have expected to see here.

"What . . ."

"General, I asked if you understood me?"

"But I don't understand, sir, what are you doing here?" to receive a puzzled look.

"General Hogan, are you quite alright? You seem to be having some trouble comprehending, are you ill, are you injured?" came an inquiry that would have seemed sincere if it weren't for the look on that face, in those eyes.

A word, a gesture, and a military attache was at his side, and Hogan found himself being escorted out of the room, across the garden, out that black metal gate and settled into a staff car, stunned at this turn of events. The attache was most pleasant, talked in a soothing tone of voice, treating him rather as if he was an imbecile.

"Now nothing to worry about sir, Davis and me, we'll get you back to the base here, and then on your way back to your own base, quick as you please. Never you mind about the car, we'll take care of it for you. Fortunate for you we were there, accompanying General Abernathy on his visit; now we'll have to make this quick, you understand; he wasn't planning on staying long, but to visit with his son, his godchildren, spend some time with the family, well, he quite felt that was worth making the trip, you know, he doesn't often get the chance. Quite fond of the whole family, he is; they go back a long ways, they do, any number of them." 

And the Big Brown Eagle felt the flames singe the tips of his wings and felt the heat work its way inward with a rush, and he sat in stony silence for the remainder of the trip. But his mind was working, remembering.

{"Peter and Andrew, just how long has that been going on?"} and his anger grew hard at the idea that they might have been together even in the camp, hiding it from him. And the pictures came to his mind, and his breathing quickened, and he found his fists clinched, thinking if that was true, if he'd know that then, there would have been so much more he could have . . . 

And the picture of that boy, Peter's son, {"he shouldn't be left there, with that woman. She'll ruin him; he needs a chance to become the man his father could have been, should have been; I can help with that. And the other, Randy, yes, Garrison's boy, he shouldn't be left in that environment, either; so much potential, so much . . . "} and he started to consider just how he could make that happen. 

And in The Cottages, general hilarity reigned for awhile, while a few simple precautions were put in place, just in case, especially where the children were concerned. Randy, in particular, ever observant, had seen Hogan as he watched from outside the gate, had noticed the rapt look on Hogan's face when he looked at Jamie, and being the mother hen of the group, that being another thing he'd inherited, felt it best to mention it to both his and Jamie's parents.

"Didn't like it one bit, I didn't; fair to give you the creeps, if you know w'at I mean," he told them earnestly, "heard a story early on from Cayman that would make you think."

Craig watched Goniff's face, seeing all that was there, and put a reassuring hand on his arm, "it's not going to happen, no way!" he murmured.

A look at Meghada, seeing the expression on her face, and now he knew that she DID know, had perhaps always known, and no, Hogan didn't stand a chance at Randy, at Jamie, at any of the others, not if the Dragon had to see to it personally. He could tell, this new thing, knowing that the dreams may be coming back after all these years, if it were up to her, Hogan wouldn't make it back to his base, he'd just disappear somewhere betwixt and between. 

And, after a short but intense discussion among the adults, the children were gathered, Hogan's picture shown as it had been periodically.

"This one, he is NOT on the Friends and Family list, no matter what he might say or do. He is NOT to be trusted. You're to avoid him, tell us if you see him about, do NOT go anywhere with him, you don't even tell him the time if he should inquire. You watch out for yourselves, you watch out for each other, in case he has others to do his biding. Do you understand?"

The older ones had a grim look in their eyes and nodded their heads; they looked at the younger ones then at each other; they'd be keeping watch for sure. The younger ones might not understand the why, but they understood obedience when orders were given in that serious tone of voice, and they nodded as well.

And that night, Peter and Andrew and Caeide took Jamie and Karl and Liam aside, along with Louisa and Kat and Morgana, and reinforced that, explaining that the General might have a more serious interest in them, particularly the boys, even above the others. The older four each touched the slit in their trousers or skirts, touching the pencil sharpener Da had taught them to use from a very early age, nodded, "we'll take care, and of the young ones too!" Hogan was going to be in for a big surprise if he tried anything with this lot!

Well, if he lived long enough to get the chance. There'd been more than one of the adults who ended their visit with a few thoughts about that, thoughts they fully intended to share with their own Senior Leader, the Grandmother of the Clan.

In their own cottage that night, Goniff and Craig and Meghada talked about it a bit, as much as they could. After putting security into place, as the night drew to a close, Craig and Meghada encircled Goniff, pulled him close, as he remembered things he wanted to forget, had thought he'd been successful at forgetting. Together, she rocked back and forth with the two of them, the men she loved so dearly, thinking of the children she'd born with these two. No, never would Hogan get the chance to harm them, Jamie, or any of the others in their family, she swore that deep in her soul. In the morning, she'd make a phone call, and lay her heart out before the ones who could help her make sure of that.

***

He couldn't breathe, the smell of smoke and rot and the old overlay of apples causing his heart to race. He could see them, hear them, those men, the ones who wanted to hurt him. There was a new one this time, a tall dark haired man in front, husky, with an engaging, beguiling and confident smile that scared him to his soul. And it was worse than before even, because this time he wasn't alone, there were others with him, other kids, ones he knew he had to protect, and those men, there were so many of them, and . . .

And then he remembered, and he called, and they came, stepping out of the shadows like they'd done so long ago. The ones from before, the ones who'd touched his shoulder, the ones who'd hugged him and kissed him on his head; but now, and his eyes opened wide in wonder, now there were others, so many others. Other women with that same red hair, faces looking so alike. Other men, a determined man with silver-grey eyes, a strong black man with a moustache, one little man not much taller than he was, with dark hair and eyes, a tall dark haired man with blue-green eyes standing shoulder to shoulder with a skinny man with light brown hair and kind brown eyes. A broad shouldered man with his hair in a long black and silver braid, others, others, until he wasn't sure he could even count them all.

He stood there, the other kids grouped behind him, counting on him to keep them safe, and they watched as these friends, those who cared, one by one made the hurting ones disappear. When it was done, he walked forward, to the one who looked like him, to receive that same warm smile he'd remembered from before. And when he looked back at the other kids, they were encircled by these friends, protecting them, loving them, and he knew he could relax, that he wasn't alone in this anymore; none of them were alone anymore. And he could breathe again, and head held high, he led them out of that place of pain and terror - led them out of the darkness - led them safely home. And in the sky, helping to light and guide their way, the most beautiful thing of all, a rainbow filled with ribbons of light.

She watched, listened, waiting for him to calm, for his breathing to slow; she looked up to see Craig watching as well. When he was sleeping normally again, muttering just a bit under his breath, "I'll be making a call in the morning," she whispered, and Craig nodded, "good!"


	5. Judgement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Command Crew of Stalag 13 had elicited a promise from those who had come to their aid, a promise of no action taken against The Big Brown Eagle, Robert Hogan, until after the war, and then only if he threatened real, actual harm, until he presented 'clear and immediate danger'. Well, the war is long past, and General Robert Hogan has now crossed the most serious line of all - he now threatens their greatest treasure. The time for leniency is past; the time for judgement has come. Now there is just the waiting, waiting for Justice to be served. And Justice, as often is the case, takes its toll even on the victims.

"Andrew, you're being awfully quiet, that's not a good sign," Peter observed. They'd been back in Haven for a couple of days now, older kids due to head back into training, youngest ones to stay secure within the confines of the homestead. There'd been a family conference around that big kitchen table, as soon as they returned, and everyone was on guard, more even than they'd been when that gang had been making the rounds of the homesteads. The children weren't accustomed to being so hemmed in; Jamie was starting to get rebellious at the restraints, but not so much as to defy them; he understood, oh so much more than they wanted him to have to understand! And he complied, but Peter didn't want to make book on how Hogan would fare if he showed up here or at the training sites and made a try for their son, or any others. He knew the two lads, Jamie and Randy had spoken of this, and Jamie's anger was as much for Randy's sake, at something Randy had said, if not more than on his own behalf. He was right, Andrew had been far too quiet on the trip back and while he'd start to seem almost back to his old self, he'd drift into these pockets of morose silence and Peter and the others were worried. Seeing Hogan hadn't been good for any of the old team, but worse for Peter and Andrew, and Caeide wasn't all that pleased to have such a good gathering take such a turn, and having her men so troubled, never mind the new worry about the children. 

Andrew flushed, "I know I was going to try to put it out of my mind, just like you said you'd try to do; it's over and done, what happened at the camp. But, well, I keep thinking about Jamie and Karl and Liam, and even Randy, though I think the others would be harder for him to track down".

Caeide frowned, "Andrew, what, love?"

He licked his lips, and his worried, no, haunted eyes looked at them, "Hogan used a threat to me to get you to go to Klink's office, Peter, that second time, maybe even the first. You did that to keep me safe, just like you did other things to keep me safe . . ." and shook his head when Peter frowned and started to protest, "yes, you did, we both know it, putting yourself between me and those guards, and other stuff too."

Caeide hated the look in his eyes, the look in Peter's eyes as well.

"Well, we know he knows how to do stuff like that, use feelings like that to make people do what he wants them to. I just keep thinking, Jamie would do anything to protect the others, and Randy's his best friend. And Randy, well, he's the mother hen of the whole lot; he'd get between any of them and trouble if he could, even if it put him at risk." His eyes were darker now, more scared than worried, "I just don't want anything to happen to them, any of them," he said in a soft voice, almost a whisper.

"Andrew, luv, you know we've put extra precautions in place . . ." Peter started, when a look from Caeide stopped him.

"Caeide, what is it? I know you, I know that look," he said sternly.

"Andrew's right, I think; and there are others who think that also. We've been told to just concentrate on guarding our own for right now, the ones here. The other families, the school trainers, the mentors are on extra security for all the others, though the likelihood of him knowing where any of THEY are is remote; still, we were all more than surprised by him showing up at The Cottages, weren't we? The others, they're guarding as well. I've been told to just wait it out; and loves, I've a feeling we won't be waiting for long. He stepped over a line, tracking us down, eyeing the youngsters; there's more than one at that gathering who thought that, and more that've heard about it as well. The promise that was made, to hold off, that doesn't apply now, was never intended to apply when this time came, not when he's become a threat to the children."

Peter's eyes grew wide, and he sat down on the floor, "I think I always knew it'd come to this; I just didn't want to . . ."

His blue-green eyes misted over, "Caeide, you don't know what he was like, what he meant to us in those early days," shaking his dark head, rocking just a bit side to side. Andrew watched him and then came to sit down beside him, leaning in so their shoulders pressed warmly against each other, easing Peter slower and slower to a full stop.

Caeide had just the smallest of smiles on her face, not of amusement, no, never, but of deep appreciation of that so familiar show of support and love. {"How long was that the only sign either of them could show, that slight touch of the shoulders? What would we have done without him, our Andrew? Peter would never have grown so strong, come so far without him, I am sure of that; no, perhaps I wouldn't have either,"} knowing her feelings for the smaller man were as strong as the ones she felt for Peter, different in some ways, but just as strong.

"Aye, then, laddie. Tell me," she invited, softly, knowing he needed this, and he did. He told her of the conditions in the camp when he arrived there, and of his first years, the misery, and death, and despair. Of Hogan arriving, of building them into a team, giving them something of purpose to do, improving conditions and morale, being a leader and then a friend and brother, and ultimately, for Peter, a lover.

How Hogan had started to change, "I think 'e became addicted to the challenge, to the power, the control, and it changed 'im. Well, that makes sense; what 'appened those years, it changed all of us. Louie lost some of 'is fear of tight spots, though not all of it, and fell for Marya. Kinch, well, being SIC was good for 'im, gave 'im more confidence, though 'aving to stay in camp more than the rest sometimes made 'im feel 'e wasn't doing as much; made it 'arder for 'im when 'e got back to where 'e was treated as less, too. I wouldn'tve survived much longer; I was too sick, and when I wasn't sick, I was busy annoying the guards into shooting me, doing stupid stuff out of frustration and anger, though Louie was the start of me turning that around, acourse. I came out stronger in some ways, and more torn up in others. Andrew 'ere, 'e found out just 'ow much 'e was capable of, 'ow strong and valued 'e was. We DID things, important things. We SURVIVED things, some bloody awful. We found friends, brothers," looking at Andrew, thinking of Louie and Marya, "we found people we loved. We all changed, just, with the gov," and his voice cracked, "it wasn't in the same direction like. The man I knew then, you'd never 'ave to worry about 'im turning on you, never 'ave to think to watch your back with him, never think to 'ave to guard the kids." 

He frowned, thinking, "don't known when it really started, but I think I first started to see it after the Ravens," referring to his involuntary stay with that sexually sadistic pair of Gestapo agents. "'e'd always 'ave us talk to 'im after any such things, debriefing, and anything really bad, we'd talk it out and it'd 'elp most of the time. Them, though, 'e wanted to know all they did, 'ow it made me feel, and it bothered me, cause it wasn't just once 'e wanted me to tell it, but more. Sometimes, after that, 'e'd . . ." and he shuddered slightly and shut his eyes tight, trying to shut out the memories. He sighed, and grew silent.

They waited, "by the time Joss Larrabee and those three youngsters came through camp, it was something different. I'd avoided 'im earlier in the day, pretended I didn't know what 'e 'ad in mind; the time before, well, it scared me a bit, I 'ave to admit. Not just 'im 'urting me, that'd 'appened before, but that I could see 'e intended to 'urt me, that it was exciting 'im, thinking of it." His voice got lower, more shaky now, "and 'e kept finding new ways to 'urt me; then sometimes, it'd be like when it first started, sweet and right; I'd never know what to expect, cept sometimes, you could read it on 'im, if you know what I mean. When they arrived, ''is fussing at the kids, trying to take them aside, trying to make Joss think I'd do them 'arm, I figured that was payback, just another way of 'urting me, but I tried to keep from thinking it was anything more, kept telling myself that's all it was, that the kids weren't in any danger, not really, though I wasn't about to let 'im take them aside in any case. But, sometimes, I think it was a bit of the same, I mean, 'im in control, doing whatever 'e wanted just because 'e could, with someone not being strong enough, able to say no." 

He glanced at Andrew and flushed, as if ashamed, "there were times I'd be thinking about not, you know, and 'e'd see that, and smile at me, kind like, like 'e was fine with that, and then 'e'd start looking around the room, at Louie, at Olsen, then always ending up with Andrew, and I'd know I didn't really 'ave a choice. If it wasn't me, it'd be someone else, and I just couldn't . . ."

He trembled and continued, in not much more than a whisper, "I always knew what COULD 'appen, if 'e really turned on me or on any of us - there were so many risks, dangers, ways for things to go all pear shaped."

Andrew had a stricken look on his face; {"I remember all that, and I remember I was scared of Hogan most of that last year. Not just for the personal stuff, but knowing the danger we were all in, and just how much control he had, one little word or slip, one misdirection,"} but now the look slowly changed, it became older and angrier and resolved. 

"Caeide, if he could do that kind of thing with Peter, he could do it with Jamie or Randy or any of the others. Heck, they're just kids, even if they are Clan. He can't be allowed to do that. He's got to be stopped."

There was no hesitation in his voice, no softening. "Yeah, the man he was when I first met him, I'd never be saying this, thinking this, but guys, he hasn't been that man for a long time now."

Caeide got up, briefly touched each man, stroking their hair, before going to pour each of them a stiff drink.

{"In some ways, this is my fault; I knew, years ago, he was 'wrong', was dangerous. I should have taken care of this, arranged something then, but he was important to them, and I hesitated, not wanting to cause them grief."}.

Peter looked up at her, knowing her well enough to know what she was thinking, regretting, and gave her a strained wry smile, "you said it yourself, luv, or was it Meghada? Can't go finishing off any you think MIGHT be a problem, not enough room on the hillside and there's always the chance some might come around right, you know. Don't go blaming yourself for not doing something; I don't think I was ready to let go of 'oping 'e'd come around right, don't know about Andrew, here," with a sad smile over at his luv, his friend.

He was a little surprised at the steady look he got in return, "Peter, I've been ready since the first time he hurt you so much, but we needed him, as a leader for the team. But for him, himself, I've been ready." They ended the talking then, choosing the warm comfort of each other's arms, and Caeide slipped out the door, and down to the nursery. 

Maude sat there, knitting while the youngest of her lot napped. "They coming to grips with what has to be?" she asked. Maude, always being a canny one, had known this was how things would have to end sometime; there'd be no real peace for her family til then, and now with the threat widening to more of the Clan, and the youngsters, she knew the time was now. But she also knew her two lads, that it would be hard for them to deal with.

"Surprisingly well, especially Andrew. For such a mild mannered lad, there's a lot pent up inside him, you know."

And Maude nodded, remembering how he'd come to her in that first visit, confiding in her in an attempt to protect Peter from Hogan and his games. "Aye, that there is. 

Hogan was back to his desk, his duties, his wheeling and dealing and manouevering in the halls of power. He'd done a little investigating, a little research, about International law, Welsh and English law, concerning custody of minor children, what it takes to get custody, what it takes to lose custody, and what constitutes an environment where the authorities might take action, and he'd get a sly smile at the surprises he had in store. Soon, he'd get beyond the generalities, down to specific cases, soon.

{"Peter's son, Jamie, yes, certainly, and that blond boy, Garrison's, the smaller but obviously so sharp one down in that village as well, perhaps, Randy, that was his name. They'd make a good pair, already friends; they both have possibilities, I could train them up right, see they live up to their potential. Well see, after that, about some of the others, but a good start, right there."}

A deep firm voice on the radio, "we need to act now. He's been asking some questions, doing a bit of research, how to take custody of a child, what the authorities need, all kinds of troubling things. Nothing specific yet, and we can't let it get to that, where there might be action taken, or well, tried to be taken to be sure; like we'd hand any of our own over to anyone! Still, best to avoid any question of that even being spoken, no sense getting a flap started."

Another voice, female and perhaps a bit thin with age, but just as strong as ever in intent and resolve, laying out a plan of action.

A nod of agreement, and a deep sigh from another male voice, "I'll take care of it. I can get closer with no one thinking anything of it; I see him often enough for that. This is what I believe might work best . . ." 

Caeide put down the phone carefully and sat down even more carefully. Maude came in, took one look and poured out a cup of the still hot morning coffee, added some rich cream and sat it in front of the younger woman, and finally, "anything I need to know, lass?"

Caeide blinked rapidly, as if she had not realized she wasn't still alone, and reached for the cup, "it's done. I'll need to tell the lads when they come in for lunch. It's strange, Maude. I'm relieved that the threat is gone, angry that it came to this, even angrier at what I've just been told about what he'd been planning for us, but it's like I can't wrap my mind around it."

Her face became icy, her eyes filled with controlled rage, "he was intending to go to the authorities, try to get them to take Jamie and Randy, give them over to him to raise. Jamie and Randy, for now, later . . ." She snarled, deep in her chest at the thought.

Maude was aghast, but even more amazed that anyone would think they could just take a Clan youngster away, not realize how the whole Clan would rise up, the sheer power and influence of the Clan. Maude reached over and patted her shoulder, "it'll take time, girl, even more for them, I'd think. You've lived with this for a long time; there's got to be a strangeness to the changing. It had to be, though, we know that. It's a shame, it truly is, but not your fault, not the Clan's fault, not the lads. Don't know whose it is, or even if anyone IS at fault for him turning out as he did; sometimes, people just are wrong, some from the beginning, some growing to be that way."

They knew when they walked in the door that something had changed. Maude was fussing with food on the stove, setting the table. Caeide was pale as anything. Liam and Morgana were at the high table, busy shelling out beans for seed for next year, Colin playing in the cordoned off area next to them, Scotty firmly ensconced on Caeide's lap, her holding him tight, rocking him back and forth slightly.

Peter frowned at her, {"don't look like 'e's 'urt, but something's wrong. Maybe a scare with one of the Robb's?"} using the term they had all started using years ago for the occasional adder that came across their path. Andrew was puzzled too, seeing the apprehensive look on Maudie's old face, and the way Caeide pressed her lips to her son's dark head. She looked up and swallowed deeply, standing to put her son in the play area with his twin brother.

"Lads, I've news. . ." and they knew, somehow.

"We need to get cleaned up; Caeide luv, come up with us and tell us there? I'm thinking Maudie already knows," he asked. "Maude, are you alright with that, with the youngsters?" to get a sympathetic smile and nod.

"Acourse, we'll be fine. Take your time, nothing will ruin til you get back."

It was not an easy telling; she'd not expected it to be. But the news of what Hogan had been up to, regarding the two boys, that helped shake out any remaining cobwebs, any lingering threads of regret.

"Never thought of that, that 'e'd try something like that," came from a visibly shaken Peter, to be answered by a grim Andrew, "and no reason for us to, I can't imagine him or anyone thinking the Clan would ever let anything like that happen. I can't imagine any of US ever letting anything like that happen." He turned to Caeide, "just what DID happen?"

"According to the report, he had a heart attack; it was well witnessed, he was in a meeting in Washington at the time. In fact," she looked at them calmly, solemnly, "the old man was there at the time; he was close enough to see everything; another friend had just finished chatting with him, in fact. It was quick, out of the blue. He was rushed to the hospital of course, but nothing could be done." Her eyes grew cold, "one of the doctors there is Clan; he confirmed the death, twice over, in fact, just to be sure. I'm sure the autopsy will confirm it was a heart attack". She didn't mention that the autopsy would also confirm he was quite out of the picture; if that thought crossed their minds, no one said it out loud. 

As for herself, she wondered just what was the best way to deal with a vampire, an emotional one even if not a real one, though she'd not put anything out of the realm of possibility where Robert Hogan was concerned. Now, was it just the stake through the heart, did it have to be a particular type of wood? Was decapitation necessary, filling the mouth with salt? Burning the remains to ash, then scattering the ash over moving water? Or was that just for witches. Well, she'd call the Grandmother and ask; she'd know, could arrange for the right thing. After all, it was best not to take chances, not with evil.

Later, more at ease in her mind after that radio conversation, not with her Grandmother's Aide as she'd thought it would be, but with the Grandmother herself, she sat over a glass of good bourbon, thinking, {"aye, a combination of the lot. A ashen stake through the heart, decapitation by a metal sword with one blow only by one of our strongest - Logan has already been dispatched - the mouth filled with salt, then the whole lot burned to ash; then the ashes gathered completely, leaving not a trace behind, mixed with a full pound of good salt that had been sifted through with various herbs that had been prayed over and blessed by Sweet Mother Erdu. Bless the Grandmother! She's not leaving anything to chance either; the widow seemingly gladly agreed to the cremation, and was happy to have 'close friends General Abernathy and General McCloud' handle all the arrangements, including scattering the ashes out to sea, all that lovely 'moving water'. Grandmother said the Old Man thought there was more relief than grief dwelling in that poor woman's soul. He intends to keep a gentle watch on her and her children, lend what support and help he can; I imagine more than a little damage has been done in that corner as well - I can't think Hogan would neglect such ready and tender victims. Who knows how many more are out there! Though the Grandmother says she's sending an envoy to another General, a General Daniel Nelson, him and his son Charlie. She thinks they deserve hearing the news personally, and in private."


	6. Ribbons of Darkness, Ribbons of Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friends, old and new, and family all join together to help Andrew make some sense of all that has happened. In doing so, there is comfort and hope, given - taken - shared. Meanwhile, at The Cottages, Goniff receives some comfort of his own, and finds new peace within him as well. First account takes place at Haven Farms and second at The Cottages.

Three weeks later, it was. Jada had delivered a fine filly, and Andrew had looked at that gleaming chestnut coat with pleasure, but when he looked into those big brown eyes, his heart skipped a beat. {"Angie!!!"} and the tiny filly butted her head against him, nickered as if saying {"Hello again, Andrew!"}, reached out to kiss his cheek just like before, and he wrapped his arms around her. Looking up at Peter and Caeide, he told them, tears in his eyes, "her name is Angie Too!"

The arrival of the wolfhound pup the next week, one from a unusual new (quite unplanned) line established by Estelle with able assistance from Charlie, Andrew's scruffy alley-dog, the new pup destined to be his and his alone, "I'm going to call him Charlie!", and the little calico Lucy-cat he chose from the latest litter of kittens, along with Angie Too and he felt something inside him settle into calmness.

Peter had watched all of that, not even trying to understand, just accepting that his Andrew was slowly becoming himself again, and he nodded, "Charlie it is, then." They shared that with Caeide and Maude at tea-time, and the redhead had nodded and said, "that's a fine name, Andrew. Charlie it is. Oh, by the way, I've a bit of a chore for you tomorrow, if you don't mind. It's important; I'd like you to get started on it right after breakfast," though she changed the subject without telling him anything more.

And when Andrew came down to breakfast the next morning, Caide had a job for him, just as she'd promised at tea the day before, a large fabric basket filled with ribbons, ribbons of every color imaginable. Some had things written on them, others didn't, though there was an ink pen and a chalk pencil sitting alongside.

He frowned up in puzzlement, "what do you need me to do with those?", puzzled, yes, but willing, as Andrew always was. 

"Sort them out, Andrew. Add in writing where there is none, where you think it should be. Use the table in the front room to lay them out, as best you can."

He nodded, not understanding some of that, but figuring it might make more sense once he started, but had to ask, "and the black ones, the muddy-colored ones, they don't seem to fit with the rest. What about them?"

She shrugged her shoulders, "that's for you to decide, Andrew; that's part of the job, just be sure to use all of the ribbons, don't leave any out, whether you write anything on them or not; just fill in as many as you can." He shot a quick glance over at Peter, who looked just as bewildered as Andrew felt.

Andrew, now alone at the big table in the front room, pulled out the first ribbon, 'Louie LeBeau' written firmly in dark ink across the deep red ribbon. The next ribbon, a rich pink, it said 'Marisol' on it. A royal blue one, well, that said 'Peter'. One by one he sorted out the ribbons with writing on them, stacking them to one side, leaving the plain ones in the basket. Sorting them into heaps of similar colors, reading what was written once again, a smile started coming over his face as he realized what these signified. He slowly started laying them out in what started as a rainbow pattern, but he quickly shook his head and started over with something else in mind. When those were all in place, with wide gaps to add others, he started writing on the remaining ribbons, names, places, things, and one by one added them to the pattern laid out before him. The black ones, dark and muddy colors, drab or dreary colors, those that had needed a chalk pencil to show clearly, he placed at what seemed the best positions in the pattern, 'Hogan', 'the Cousins', 'the war', 'losing Mom and Dad', 'losing Angie', and so on. There were many, many more colorful ribbons than the black or dreary ones, but still a goodly number of those.

Peter stuck his head in the door several times, watching as Andrew drew out ribbon after ribbon, sometimes staring at what was written, sometimes smiling or frowning, sometimes leaning over to write his own words. He'd been tempted to go in and 'lend a 'and', but the two women had pulled him away, told him to deal with his own business for now, to let Andrew do what only Andrew could do.

Finally, the last time he looked, Andrew was sitting back, the basket empty now, studying what lay before him with seeming satisfaction. He cleared his throat, "all done then, Andrew?"

Whatever the chore had been, whatever it had meant, the look of peace, perhaps even dawning joy in Andrew's eyes was reassuring.

"Yeah, Peter. Wanna see?"

And as Peter looked down at the huge fan shape, pale ribbons, bright ribbons, deep richly colored ribbons with some dreary colored ribbons, and black ribbons spaced to look like the ribs of the fan, he did what he always did when Andrew had started him star-gazing or cloud-watching or any other of the odd things Andrew got him involved in, Andrew having a way of seeing and understanding things that Peter simply didn't have.

He said, "tell me, Andrew. Explain it to me," and he, and Maude and Caeide who'd stood quietly in the background, listened as Andrew explained.

"It's like my list, of why I'm wealthy, remember? Except it's more. See, these are the things that make me wealthy," gently stroking the bright ribbons with their names, 'Estelle', 'Charlie', 'Charlie Too', 'Angie', 'Angie Too', 'Peter', 'Maudie' and a multitude of others, two legged and four - people, places, events. "These," pointing to some more pale tinged colors, "are things that just make things better." He touched one of the ribbons of a more muddy, murky tone, "and these are the not-so-good things, but not really BAD, and these, these are the really BAD things. See, Peter - see how those muddy colors and the black ribbons are interwoven like that, see how they make the others shine and sparkle by comparison. See this one, it's such a pale pink, you might not even notice it if it was by itself, or against that other one, since it's just a little bit darker, or the lighter one over on the other side. But with the black one beside it, it just comes to life, makes you really see it, appreciate it!" 

He grinned up at Caeide, "that's it, right? That's the way I was supposed to do it?"

She laughed, shook her head, "there wasn't a 'supposed to do it' way, Andrew. It was a way for you to sort things out so they made sense to you, not a way that I'd predetermined. But I have to say, I DO think you got it just right. Just right. Ribbons of darkness, ribbons of light, each a part of our lives. Maybe, if we are very lucky, since the the ribbons of darkness are going to be there for each of us, maybe at least they help us realize how much those ribbons of light really are worth." 

Later that night, tucking the children away in their beds, the three of them spent extra time, bestowing an extra kiss or pat or a ruffling of a tousled head. Andrew paused after the last tuck-in, looked up at Peter, over at Caeide.

"Ribbons of light, that's what they are, you know; our ribbons of light, and it shouldn't take any dark ribbons to make us appreciate them and all the rest," and their arms enfolded each other as they paused there in that hallway, before they headed to Caeide's big bed to share the warmth that would chase away any remaining chill.

In the morning Caeide stood looking at that lovely fan Andrew had formed. She'd already taken steps to have a frame made, glass cut; that fan was destined to join the other treasures hung on the walls of the big room downstairs.

Ian would be bringing more ribbons to refill the basket his next flight; after all, each enclave had such, to be used to aid in contemplation or meditation, had been since the very earliest days. Well, wasn't the Sweet Mother, Mother Erdu always depicted with colorful ribbons of light - sometimes in the form of a rainbow diadem, or flowing overskirt; sometimes in the form of a wooden flail with the ribbons flowing down. And often, oh so often, as a fan of shining, glowing ribbons held in that strong, stern yet loving hand. {"Thank you, Sweet Mother, for this gift!"} 

 

Meanwhile, back at The Cottages, the word had come, and while there had been no discussion, only solemn nods, Meghada and Craig kept a close watch on Goniff throughout the day, wondering if the nightmares would visit him again that night, and if so, for how long this time. Meghada was just putting the finishing touches on dinner when she heard Goniff call them urgently from the garden, and fetching Craig from the office they both went into the garden to see Goniff standing as if transfixed, staring at the horizon.

Craig gently touched the smaller man's shoulder, but Goniff didn't turn around, just pointed, saying with wonder in his voice.

"Do you see it? Ruddy 'ell, it's beautiful; I've never seen one any better. Look, ribbons of light, just filling the sky!"

{"Thank you, Sweet Mother, for this gift!"}.

And he was right, a glowing sunset below, a huge sparkling rainbow hovering above - ribbons of light, filling the sky. And when he turned to them, they could see the deep peace that filled him, and they thought maybe the nightmares just might NOT return this time. And, you know? They were right. 


End file.
